


Now That I Fell Into Your Arms

by AlgernonInWonderland



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Angst, Body Horror, Disregards most of season 3, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Music, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protect Adrien Agreste, So much angst, post-desperada
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2020-02-11
Packaged: 2020-10-28 07:36:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20774924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlgernonInWonderland/pseuds/AlgernonInWonderland
Summary: The aftermath of these 25,913 tries is a lot more than Adrien had first thought. As he struggles to keep up appearances, he finds himself returning to the Couffaine houseboat.





	1. Nuits Blanches, Idées Noires

Perhaps it is the euphoria rush that comes with Ladybug’s power that has not worn off just yet, or the fact that he got to perform with Luka, or maybe that Gorilla has stayed true to his words and hasn’t given him away, truly, Adrien does not know which one it is, a blend of the three, probably. The fact remains, he goes to bed feeling satisfied that night. He hesitates for a second before taking off his ring like he does each time he is about to fall asleep, Plagg gives him an odd look, but ultimately Adrien does so and hides it under his pillow like he always does. He breathes in and out slowly and his eyes close. What a day it has been. And now, it is over at last. 

But there is something nagging at him, a vague flicker in his mind that won’t die out. And after a good five minutes, Adrien is still very much conscious. He tosses and turns, opens his eyes again. It is not even late yet, he notices when he checks his phone — no new messages, he has disabled his Instagram notifications ages ago, Nino has a date with Alya, the premiere for a film he has bought the tickets for weeks in advance which means that he cannot text him, it is past Kagami’s bedtime and she is not fond of texting — she has to keep the fact that she has his phone number a secret from her mother and deletes it alongside their conversations fairly often— and his other friends are probably busy too, Marinette’s texts are always a little weird and though there is nothing wrong with that, it is not what he needs right now. No one to talk to, then. Going downstairs would only disturb Nathalie —does she ever sleep?— and turning on his computer and playing games until sunrise is a big no, as tempting as it sounds. 

And so Adrien lies awake, motionless for a while as he stares at the ceiling. He lifts his right arm and just for a second, he is almost sure he saw something, the shadow of a bracelet there, his skin covered in a scale-like material. His heart races in his chest, his breathing gets shallower. He blinks. And of course, when his eyes open again, his wrist is bare just like his arm, no scales, no bracelet, nothing but little old him. The things he imagines, sometimes… He really needs the sleep. This is fine, he tells himself, he is in his room, in his bed, he is Adrien Agreste and everything is fine. He repeats this mantra and closes his eyes again. This time, it works. 

Most nights are dreamless for him, at least he likes to think so. The truth is, Adrien does dream, not more or less than the average person, simply, he cannot recall what he has dreamt of when he wakes up in the morning, only vague impressions, and sometimes he gets out of bed in a very good mood, sometimes not though this dissipates fairly quickly. He has had a couple of odd dreams ever since mum left and he got the ring, sure, but even these he can barely remember, chances are they weren’t vivid enough to be worth musing on, and besides, they were clearly dreams. 

When he opens his eyes, he is no longer in bed, but facing Ladybug, something heavy wrapped around his wrist. This is… His third time, he is certain of that. It looks as though it won’t be so easy after all. Not that he had expected it to be, far from it, he knows because he has lived it before, only with a ring instead of a bracelet. It has only been an fifteen minutes. He is neither hungry nor exhausted, a few stressful things have happened but his body is just fine. He won’t disappoint Ladybug on his “first” day on the job. He will be a good companion to her, better than Chat Noir has ever been. He will learn on the job. Or hopefully, he won’t have to, perhaps this time will be the right one. 

Moving in this suit feels… Different. Not wrong, but different, not him, not yet at least. Sass’s suit is not like Plagg’s, and somehow he knows that jumping around and always landing on his feet won’t be possible when he is Aspik. Aspik? Was it really good? It sounds good enough for now and he will be very happy if it is the name he has to stick with. They follow the itinerary as the nineteen times before, and perhaps if he does things differently this time, there will be no twenty first. For Ladybug, it is entirely new, for him it is getting familiar now, Desperada may be unpredictable she may have a deadly aim but this won’t discourage him. This time, he will get it right. He is sorely mistaken. 

They are making small talk when it happens. It is different from the usual banter when Ladybug knows him as Chat Noir, things are a little more awkward between them. Though he is not very good at reading these social cues, Aspik is almost certain there is a chance for romance. But he fumbles for words, tries to play it cool with limited success. Someone left a bouquet on the pavement before they were attacked by Desperada, this could be his chance. Should he…

Ladybug is taken before he can do anything to prevent it and Desperada grins at him.

He won’t panic now, he can solve everything, and prevent it from ever happening again. His left hand wraps around his wrist.

“Second chance!”

“Second chance!”

“Second chance!”

“Second…”

It is his three hundred and forty eighth try. He does not need to eat, does not need to sleep, because nothing, nothing has happened just yet, his body is still the same, he truly, he only keeps the memory of what has happened. It has been an entire day and yet not even a minutes, Sass has kept silent so far. It has been a day, an entire day. Or has it? He is not sure. himself Not that his certitude matters, he will keep on doing this for as long as he can, for Ladybug’s sake, for his city’s sake, for his own sake too. They choose a different exit this time, and Ladybug is surprised with his strategic thinking. She does not ask him how many times he has done this, instead she praises him for his “new” ideas. Hearing this feels nice, and makes him a little warmer inside.

Warmth and nice feelings get him nowhere, Desperada finds them and, as always, she captures Ladybug first. He is not fast enough, and when he spots her, it is always too late. He knows he should not want to hurt her, it is not the woman’s fault, but Hawk Moth’s, he is the one pulling the strings, and yet there is rage in the pit of his stomach the next time he sees their enemy. As if he could actually get close enough to her. This lyre won’t be of any use to him, he cannot use it as a weapon. It was not made for him, or meant for him. And he fails again, and again, and again. 

This is… He has almost forgotten. Was it try number five thousand and five or five thousand and six? The sky is still blue, revoltingly blue, he is not hungry, his body is still not tired. How long has it been now? Seventeen days. Or barely a second or two. He needs to continue. Letting his Lady disappear over and over again… It has to end. It is his fault nothing has worked out so far. What was he thinking revealing himself like that? And the look in her eyes then, confusion, incomprehension before Desperada’s attack… Seventeen days turn into a month, and the only thing he learns is that he is powerless, he can only play the same thing over and over again. And yet no matter the alternations they make to the scenario, the ending never changes.

Two months. His body is the same as it has been for the last eighty six thousand and five hundred minutes. His hair is still the same length, his voice the same, no need for food, no bags under his eyes. He has been wide awake for two entire months and no one knows that. The second skin Sass has given him truly is fused with him, he no longer has to look at his wrist to be sure he will grab on the right part of the bracelet, he could do it with his eyes closed. He fails Ladybug again and again and again and whenever she is captured he has to go back. He wouldn’t be able to purify the butterfly even if he wanted to. He has not learned a thing.

The vividness of it all is nearly unbearable, his attempts get more and more desperate, but Ladybug pushes him out of Desperada’s line of fire whenever he tries to protect her. He cannot be her saviour, her knight in shining armour, can he? He is worthless in this suit. He should have refused. The layer of scales around his neck feels too tight and his skin… He is cold, and boiling hot at the same time, a thousand pinpricks on his forearm. It has to be someone else, someone else to take this burden from him. He tries to de-transform but the words won’t leave his mouth at first and when they do… Nothing. He repeats them, over and over again and nothing, nothing happens, he tries to peel this suit off his body and it hurts and hurts and Ladybug vanishes before his eyes always the same look of surprise and terror in her eyes he can’t breathe his head aches and the constant tingling on his fingertips he can’t breathe there are scales on his hands that won’t go away he can’t breathe he can’t 

His eyes split open and he gasps for air. He is going to be sick, he can feel it going up his throat… He hurries to the bathroom and barely makes it in time. His mouth and nose burn, his stomach hurts and small spots of colour dance before his eyes for a moment. He flushes the toilet at last and glances at his reflection in the mirror. He cannot see much in the dark, but there is one thing he is certain of, it is Adrien Agreste staring back at him with bleary, haunted eyes, and not Aspik. He feels relieved. His hand feels clammy as he switches on the light and splashes water on his face. It is only three in the morning and he should go back to sleep. He is so tired… His ring is right where he left it and when he puts it on, Plagg gives him a worried look. Hesitantly, he closes his eyes again. He wakes up a few hours later with the sound of his alarm clock, and feels more tired than before.

Adrien puts on more concealer this morning, Nathalie would worry if she saw him tired, Father would berate him, and he would have to lie to Nino if he asks questions. Besides, his friend would be very uneasy if he chose to give him a truthful answer, Nino always gets a little awkward whenever they discuss something mildly related to the superheroes of Paris. Likewise, Kagami tenses up whenever she hears the word akuma. Does she dream about being Riposte sometimes? But they never discuss that, they talk about the books she is allowed to read and the films she is allowed to watch, and fencing and school things but never… _That_. And making things awkward between them is the last thing he wants. One last touch and… There, perfect, the darkish shadows ringing his eyes are gone. 

And they do not notice a thing. Well, that is not entirely true, Marinette gives him an odd look that morning, as though she somehow knows. Which is not possible, of course not, this is just his tired brain making up things that are not real, this is just Marinette being her usual odd, kind self and nothing more, he decides. He dozes off during Mme Mendeleiev’s chemistry class and Nino has to poke at his arm with a pencil to wake him up before the teacher notices. When his best friend asks him what he has been doing all night to be tired like that, Adrien gives a forced apologetic smile and mumbles something about a video game he has discovered. Nino does not buy it, but he does not ask any more questions after that.

There are no fencing classes to look forward to today, which means he won’t see Kagami. He has lessons with his physics and Chinese tutors, at home. At least, he gets to walk to Agreste Manor instead of having Gorilla drive him there. It is a nice Thursday afternoon, and just for a moment, he considers going somewhere, anywhere, to skip tutoring completely, his marks are good enough as they are, they are not dropping in any way and he is still top of his class without even trying, no matter what Father and Nathalie were tricked into believing. He glances at his phone… That will be for another time. He truly needs to hurry. The streets are crowded, and noisy.

He is almost late for M. Lavoisin’s private tutoring session, and the man makes a face that tells Adrien all that he needs to know: he looks terrible. Not that he could give a proper explanation for that. What could he say to justify this anyway? “Hello, sorry but I heard car horns and the sound reminded me of something and I froze and I started shaking and my head hurt and I started seeing things that weren’t there, so sorry I’ve made you wait, would you care for a glass of juice?” That wouldn’t work very well now would it? The lesson begins, and as always, it goes well. They study things that Adrien won’t find in his textbooks before a year or two and with a little help, he understands. The same goes with his Chinese classes.

Having dinner alone is something he has grown used to, but not something he enjoys. Surely, there are good explanations as to why Father never eats with him and why Nathalie is too busy. When she was there, mum used to share her meals with him. The house felt lived in, back then, almost like a h— Gloomy thoughts again… He has to do something about that. Sleeping it off is out of the question, by now he is sure that if he tries to go to bed, he will wake up in a cold sweat. Patrol starts in… Three and a half hours, according to his phone. He texts his friends, plays video games for a little while. His stomach is still filled with dread. What time is it, even? He opens his door ever so slightly. No movement, Nathalie is nowhere to be seen, the lights are out.

“Plagg, claws out!”

The transformation helps him feel a little better. This is the familiar, this is him. Staying transformed in his room would be useless, surely, a walk will improve his mood, he tells himself He follow the Seine river, jumping from rooftop to rooftop with ease. There are fewer cars at this hour, and not nearly as many people in the streets as in broad daylight. Not that Paris is a dead city at night, far from it, otherwise they wouldn’t need to patrol. The lights are still on in the Couffaine houseboat, Chat Noir notices, and it looks like there are people on the deck. And music, he is sure, though the general ambient noise makes it hard to listen to. He gets closer, while still making sure he won’t be seen.

Anarka Couffaine and her children, facing each other in a kind of triangle, are making music together. It almost sounds like a conversation, Juleka plays a melody on her guitar, the others join, or not, and then it is Luka’s turn, and Mme Couffaine’s and Juleka’s again. It goes on and on and it never feels forced or faked. They are great musicians, the three of them. Adrien has known that for quite some time, of course, he has performed with Luka twice and heard him play on multiple other occasions, his sister and his mother too. Making music with him again could be nice, someday. As if on clue, Luka stops playing. Chat Noir freezes when the taller boy’s eyes meet his.

“We’ve got ourselves an audience! Hey young man, yes, you, over here, why don’tcha join us?” Mme Couffaine beckons him warmly.

Chat Noir only hesitates for a second, and Luka’s welcoming smile dissipates the last hint of doubt he has. It is alright for him to be here, even better, people want him to be here. He hops down from the tree he was hiding in, and lands on the houseboat’s deck noiselessly. They do not seem very impressed with him being… Well, Chat Noir. They do not take pictures of him — not that he would mind— or ask for an autograph. Instead, Mme Couffaine talks with Luka for a second before she sets up one of her many keyboards and motions for the newcomer to play. This is all about improv, of course, there is no music sheet to follow. It is a conversation, Chat Noir understands very quickly when he listens to Juleka’s melody, the way it is borrowed by her mother. And when it is his turn, he tries to make something new, something a little contemplative at first and Luka grins widely before he adds a melody of his own.

It goes slightly faster then, yet the Couffaines keep up with him just fine. And if only for a couple of minutes, Chat Noir feels happy, truly happy, and it shows in his music too. Playing alongside these people is incredibly freeing. They respect each other’s space, no one tries to play any louder than each other, and the wait, just before it is Mme Couffaine’s turn to offer a melody of her own, is not tense at all, there is no underlying sense that he is expected to say something or to act a certain way, he can do as he pleases. They are so certain that he won’t try to harm them, won’t bring them bad luck… It is a nice change of pace, Chat Noir has to say. He is not hated by most Parisians, but there always is that awkwardness when he tries to be casual. Here, there is none of that.

But time runs out and if he is not fast enough, he will miss Ladybug tonight, he will be late for patrol, for the first time in… Months? The last note dies out and it hurts to leave, to say goodbye. Still, Chat Noir needs to go, and so he apologises and thanks Juleka, Mme Couffaine and Luka, who wishes him good luck as he shakes his hand. Laughter escapes the blond boy’s lips at that, the irony of it. He thanks them again and leaps out of the houseboat, scales a building and makes it look effortlessly. He has the feeling that Luka’s eyes are on him. Instead of his regular jumps from rooftop to rooftop, he does a somersault. He likes to think that the young man looking at him is amazed.

As is nearly always the case, Ladybug is very professional tonight, she does not bring up Desperada (they rarely discuss the villains they have defeated) or the potential comeback of other heroes (not that he blames her for that, it is not distrust as much as it is her being very cautious, he knows he would do the same); sometimes he thinks he is the most sentimental of the two. She seems so… Unattainable sometimes. Out of duty, Chat Noir knows that. She is kinder to civilians she barely knows than her sidekick — he supposes she views him as that. He does not like it but he does his best to respect it. They stick to the usual itinerary, he tries a few puns, and he is fairly sure he has made her chuckle once. It is a calm night, no akumas or sentimonsters in sight. One “goodbye, my Lady” on top of the Montparnasse Tower later, they part ways. Some things just never change.

Sleep is always easier to find after patrol. Superhero parkour is just as exhausting as it looks effortless as it may seem, and though Plagg does most of the work, Adrien’s legs are always a little sore the morning after these nocturnal escapades. He takes a shower, washes his hair, does his usual skin routine, brushes his teeth and yawns at his reflection in the bathroom’s mirror before he switches off the light. He takes off his ring, closes his eyes and everything feels less clear. A small smile creeps on his lips. Tonight will be nothing like yesterday, he is sure of that.

He could not be more wrong.


	2. Escapades

He wakes up two hours later drenched in sweat, his heart pounding in his chest and his fingertips are prickling uncomfortably again. His head is throbbing and his vision is blurred because of the tears. A nightmare, nothing but a nightmare, of course, he tells himself over and over until it becomes He is in his room, it is Friday, not Wednesday, he should get some rest because school starts at eight today, he is in his pyjamas and not wearing that costume that is not his to wear. His breathing exercises help a little and he goes back to sleep. He is tired when he gets up, tired when he has breakfast under Nathalie’s watchful eyes, and tired when he gets in the car. There will be a photoshoot in the evening, she tells him.

“Oh, hello, Adrikins! Sabrina, go fetch my chemistry book!… Err, please.”

“Yes, Chloé, will do!”

“Dude, how’s it going?”

“Hi, A-A-Adrien!”

“Potassium, the answer’s potassium, ma’am!”

“No, that would be chlorine, Kim…”

“As you know, Charles Perrault…”

“The square root of…”

At lunchtime, Adrien dozes off. He cannot swallow a single thing (“Are you sure, dude? Can I get you anything else? Alright then.”). There is no way he will be able to focus on fencing this afternoon, he knows it. He hopes Kagami won’t mind him skipping again. They rarely see much of each other outside of formal events and fencing classes, which is a shame, because Kagami is a good friend. Perhaps she could join him and go… Wherever? Gorilla will be kind enough not to give him away, M. D’Argencourt will understand if he is warned ahead of time. Adrien makes a small list of all the places he might go… Nino will be busy shooting a film but he won’t mind his best friend dropping by… Then he remembers that Lila will be there too. The Couffaine houseboat again? That could be nice. He asks Juleka.

“Yeah, of course, why not, Luka’ll be there unless he’s busy with that audition of his, I think!”

And the day is much better already. All he has to do is text his fencing instructor — it takes a minute to find the right wording, no more than that— and Gorilla — that too is easy, sometimes Adrien thinks that the man cares about his wellbeing and happiness more than his Father does— after which all he has to do is tell Kagami. She answers her phone right away. They chat about everything and nothing for a little while, and Adrien knows that she is tense, even though she does her best to sound relaxed and composed, which means that one of her many private teachers is here, or perhaps her mother. He can tell because he uses the same techniques as her, he too avoids answering certain questions truthfully, he too has that polite laugh sometimes. It is almost painful to listen to her acting that way.

“So I was thinking… Would you like to go to the Couffaine houseboat this afternoon?” Adrien asks at last.

“Oh… I… Well, I’m not sure this is very reasonable thing for me to do,” Kagami says. These are not her own words, yet she has made them hers. Which means that somehow, her mother knows about Wednesday afternoon, that Kagami has been grounded in a way or another. It is his fault, yet Kagami does not bring it up. She does not blame him. He is a little relieved for that.

“Alright, I understand,” Adrien tries to sound as comforting as he can. “I’ll see you at the gala tomorrow evening, then?”

“See you tomorrow evening,” Kagami repeats. She wants to say more but she hangs up before he can ask her what that is.

The truth is, they will barely see each other at the gala, if things go the way they usually do at Agreste Manor. Adrien will have to greet the guests and act like the perfect poster child he is supposed to be, Kagami will have to stay close to her mother at all times, and, if he can make it this time, her father, a man Adrien has yet to meet. There will be all sorts of people with fancy names and fancy clothes, who will drink fancy drinks in fancy glasses and crystal champagne flutes and speak with snobbish accents, using fancy-sounding words to say the most meaningless things in the most self-important way. Maybe Chloé will be here, but she does not seem to like Kagami very much… Now is not the time to dread what is yet to come. He gladly accepts the cup of coffee Nino brings him as they walk to their next and last class together.

After months of having to sneak out because of life-threatening events, Adrien has become an expert at… Well, sneaking out and going unnoticed. He knows all there is to know about hiding places and diversions, half-baked excuses and how to disappear in plain sight. He says goodbye to his friends from school, pretends to go to his fencing class — they are going to worry if he tells them he is not going and it is the last thing he wants. He waits a few minutes and uses a different door to get out of the collège Françoise Dupont. From that moment onwards, things are fairly easy, and it barely takes him ten minutes to reach the Couffaines’ houseboat.

At first glance, and at second glance too, it seems that no one is there, the lights are off, the gangway is nowhere to be seen. Perhaps it will be for another day then, Adrien decides. He cannot exactly play the part of the flâneur, people will notice him, there will be pictures of him online. No, he will say that he feels better, and go back to M. D’Argencourt’s class. He is about to walk back to his school when he hears laughter in the distance, and the roar of a motorcycle’s engine stopping for a brief moment. And there is Luka running a hand through his hair, handing back the crash helmet he has just taken off to a woman who takes it and drives away. The young man’s face brightens the moment he sees Adrien.

Luka greets him and jumps from the bank of the Seine to the houseboat’s deck effortlessly, even with his guitar strapped to his back. Adrien knows he needs no gangway, he likes to think he is rather agile himself even out of the suit, and so he mimics Luka’s gesture. His footing is off, his shoelaces are slightly untied and he can feel himself sliding backwards before a hand grabs his wrist and prevents him from having a swim in the greenish water. Luka’s hand. Luka has just saved him. Adrien holds on to the other boy’s arm, regains his balance and finally makes it on the houseboat safely. What was that? He never messes up his jumps and his shoelaces are always perfectly tied.

“Woah, you OK there?” Luka laughs, but there is warmth and concern in his voice.

“I’m alright,” Adrien nods shakily. His hand lingers on the other boy’s forearm, he notices and immediately “Are you sure I am not bothering you?”

“If I didn’t want you here, you’d know,” Luka says as he walks inside. “You’re always welcome here, you know? Make yourself at home! Can I get you a glass of something?”

“I… thank you,” Adrien mumbles, following Luka. “Your orange juice was really good… Can I help in any way?”

“You could get yourself a seat, for one” Luka nods. “Or do anything you want, really, I’ll be there in no time, if you want to play an instrument or anything, just do, there’s no need to ask, I trust you with that.”

This is not the kind of choice Adrien usually gets to make, most of the time there are strict guidelines he needs to follow, other people’s needs he has to take into account before he can decide what to do, as silly as it sounds when he puts it like that. He hesitates for a few seconds before he plops himself down on the sofa. Luka has yet to ask him why he is here, and it is clear that he does not want him gone. Which is all good, Adrien guesses. But also a little awkward. And so he is the one to ask, when the other boy returns with two glasses on a platter, and a bowl of almonds.

“You wanted a place to rest for a little while, or perhaps to make music freely, no?” Luka raises his eyebrow. “Or perhaps you wanted to see me?” He laughs at that. “Well, there’s nothing wrong with either of these answers. As I’ve said, you’re always welcome here. Oh, and there’s no need to thank me for anything.”

Adrien does so anyway, Luka hands him his glass and they chat. During the next twenty minutes, Adrien learns a lot about Luka, the lycée he goes to, how old he is — only a year older than his sister — and the first instrument he has learned to play — a small ukulele he still has somewhere in his room. He is a better guitarist than he is a speaker, it soon becomes obvious, his phrasing can get a little awkward sometimes, but the stories he tells about his daily life are genuinely fun, he is not always the hero and quite often the butt of the joke, yet there is no place for self-pity here. He is laid back about a great many things. And in return, Luka learns a few things about Adrien that he won’t find in the tabloids and fan sites. Father would say that this is silly and useless, but it is just nice, getting to know someone a little better.

“So, the woman from earlier?” Adrien finally asks. His glass is empty by now, and so is Luka’s.

“Oh, she’s one of Jagged Stone’s many lackeys… He had sent her to fetch me for an audition of some sorts,” comes the answer, and Luka sounds a little annoyed.

“He is quite eccentric,” Adrien agrees neutrally. It is a mild way to put it, the man can virtually snap his fingers and have everything, and this is no exaggeration, handed to him on a silver platter. “Never meet your heroes?”

“Something like that,” Luka nods. He puts on his poker face as he continues. That, or perhaps he seldom gets mad. “He is a brilliant musician and someone I used to… Someone I admire, but the way he treats everyone is just… You know, like they’re just his servants, his toys… I didn’t even know there was an audition today, they already had one of my guitars there, just get in the car and, well… Sorry, I’m not making a lot of sense right now…”

“I see what you mean,” Adrien says. He really does. The last minute photoshoots in the middle of the day because a photographer is suddenly free, all the additions to his schedule he is never made aware of until the very last minute, he knows all about that. “Did it go well?”

“I like playing with other people better, especially if there’s room for improv here and there… But it was fine, I guess,” Luka shrugs.

“I think you’re a pretty great guitarist,” Adrien says earnestly.

“You’re not a bad pianist either, from what I’ve heard,” Luka retorts. “I wish we could play together more often!”

Adrien steals a glance at his phone and munches on an almond — his toothbrush is in his bag just in case— while Luka does the dishes (“no, no, don’t get up, you’re a guest”). Still plenty of time before that photoshoot, no new messages from anyone, they all think he is with M. D’Argencourt so no surprises here. He could easily fall asleep on the couch right here and now, but that would be a little rude and he still feels kind of bad for crashing at the other boy’s house in the first place. Perhaps this is how friendship is supposed to work, hanging out at someone’s place without the need for an invitation, or perhaps Luka is just being kind to him.

The keyboard he has played is here, in a corner of the with many other instruments and intricate wires and plugs. Adrien cannot find any of the instruments he has seen the Couffaines play yesterday night, it is a safe bet to say that there must be more guitars everywhere in the houseboat. Not that he is sure, he has seen very little of it. It does not matter, he will ask Luka to show him around when the time is right, which is to say definitely not now. Instead, Adrien walks to the keyboard, lifts in carefully and sets it in the middle of the living room, making as little noise as he can.

“Taking the initiative?” Luka’s back is still turned to him but he can hear. “I like that! Let me take off my jacket and grab my Fender and we’ll get started!”

Efficient as they are — while Luka is in his room, Adrien sets up everything and googles things when he is not sure— they are ready to play in a matter of minutes. Improv it is, then. Like last night, perhaps? Luka takes out his phone (“I can’t remember all the melodies we play, if there are some I like, I want to be able to revisit them”). Lukastomps his foot, Adrien nods along and they have their tempo. There are no drums, no bass, and one of them has to fill in that role. There is no room for hesitation, Adrien plays the first string of chords that comes to his. Luka’s smile grows wider as he strums along.

This is far from perfect, Adrien makes mistakes that would make his piano teacher bows her head in shame — it is not his fault he is too tired to concentrate — but Luka does not point that out, he seems far too absorbed in the song they are creating out of nothing. It is far from perfect, yes, but very enjoyable, even more physically demanding than the other times; when the last notes die out, they stay silent for a short while, out of breath. This felt… Surprisingly good, Adrien has to say, he is more exhausted than before, but this is an elated kind of tiredness.

“So, that was… Pretty nice,” he says, and Luka nods at that. The lightheadedness is not downright uncomfortable, but definitely unusual. “Whew! I’m… Going to sit for a while but don’t mind me! It was… Yeah, we should play more often.”

“You’ve had lunch at all?” Luka sounds concerned now. “Do you need a place to rest? You can nap in my bed if you want…”

“Yeah, no, it’s fine, really, I just need five minutes and I’ll be alright again, I’m sure.”Not his most convincing answer. He is rambling, he never rambles, he has had private tutors and mum help him get over that. “I’m good!”

And Luka does not buy it at all. While Adrien is sitting on the couch with his eyes closed, he can hear the noise of something cooking — eggs? He is not sure but it sounds like eggs, and something liquid, maybe an omelet? — and smell the aroma — definitely an omelet— and Luka humming to himself. He truly is nice to about everyone, isn’t he? And not in a distant, polite way. While he is not overly friendly right away the way Alya or Nino can be, he does not hide behind his skills like Max does, neither is he aloof all of a sudden like a certain fencer friend of his. How Luka manages it is a mystery but he does it very well. He returns with two plates and their assorted forks and knives and a welcoming smile on his lips.

The omelet does not look like much, it is a little crumpled, definitely not the sort of dish he would have at home, too simple for the chef. The plate looks old but clean, white with little blue drawings of sailors and boats; the kind that could be found at a flea market. All things Father would disapprove of. But to hell with the chef and Father, this is mouth-watering, and Adrien has to keep himself from eating it all right away. Luka shows no such restraint and cleans his own dish in a matter of seconds.

“Take it slow, no hurry, I’m excused for the whole day!” he says as he gets up. “I’m happy you enjoy my cooking!”

And so, Adrien is glad to do as he is told. It really is ok for him to just _be_ here and not do anything in particular. Now that he thinks about it, he has yet to go to Nino’s, or to Marinette’s for reasons unrelated to homework and school; even the first time he had come to the houseboat, it had been to perform alongside Kitty Section because Rose had begged him to, and the second time… But he doesn’t want to think about it, it feels so… Distant, like it has been months, and besides, it had almost turned into him signing up with Jagged Stone. No, it is different this time, a good kind of different.

When he finally gets up to put his things in the dishwasher, Luka has is earphones on and is scribbling inside a green notebook — guitar tabs, from their small jam session, and oddly enough, the piano parts too, Adrien observes— at a frightening speed, almost absentmindedly. Not that it should be surprising, really, if anything, it makes sense for an experienced musician like him to be this quick. Why the Couffaine aren’t taking over the world of rock considering how talented they are, now this is a mystery. Perhaps Luka will get his professional debut with Jagged Stone soon… But does he even want that? Would it be rude to ask? But that will be for another day, Adrien decides.

“Still plenty of time,” he mutters to himself as he glances at his phone. No new messages, he does not check his Instagram and glances at Luka instead. The other boy does not seem to notice him. His hands are beautiful. A little bigger than his, the nails a little longer, and dark green nail polish this time. He pulls it off just fine. Not just that, he is one of the only boys he knows who can wear bracelets without it looking stupid. As much as he likes Nino, he could really use a personal stylist. How long has he been dyeing his hair? His natural colour must be a little lighter than Juleka’s. It suits him well, too.

Luka looks up from his notebook, takes off his earphones and Adrien understands he has been staring at him all along. He can feel his cheeks heat up and he quickly looks away. He has to do something before this turns awkward, to come up with _something_, _anything_ that would make it look even worse than it probably does. No stuttering, a deep breath, a measured tone, three, two, one…

“I was wondering? Do you play acoustic too?”

Of course he does, Adrien berates himself. Not that he is supposed to know that, he has only seen all three Couffaines perform together as Chat Noir, but even without that, it should be obvious. And so, he adds, “I’ve been trying to get back into it, but…”

“Oh, yeah, yeah!” Luka’s grin is almost cat-like. “Not as often, but I’ve got a thing or two lying around in the storeroom I could show you… Wanna come with? Or you can just hang out here if you want.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever visited here,”Adrien looks away… Before he turns back to the other boy. “Well, lead the way, Captain Luka!”

“I’m the Quartermaster, actually,” Luka retorts. “Mum is the captain and Jules is the Sailing Master. Well, come along, mate Adrien!”

“Aye, aye,” Adrien chuckles and follows his host.

“Just so you know in advance, I’m sorry for the mess,” Luka says just before he opens the door. “Make yourself at home! I won’t be long.” And with that, he all but runs to the other side of the room and disappears behind another door.

The first thing to catch Adrien’s eye is the brightly coloured Jagged Stone poster. “Understated” is not what he would call the superstar, and the same applies to his merchandise. Next come the impressive collection of guitar picks. They all seem to be autographed, names he cannot possibly guess with only a few letters to work with. Had Luka seen all these people live? It would certainly seem like it. At last, Adrien notes with a slight smile that the night table is in fact an amp, with a well-worn book on it… Jean Sénac… This is… Poetry, right? The bed is twin-sized, with a flowery curtain to cover the porthole. A unfolded room divider blocks the way, but he is sure he would find Juleka’s bed and things on the other side of it, but it is not what he has come for and so he does not ask. It is far from a messy room, really. In fact, it is a very nice, intimate place, Adrien thinks.

When he turns around, Luka is right next to him with a guitar-shaped case. He motions towards the bed with a sly smile. He plops down unceremoniously and Adrien follows suite, although more elegantly than that. The case is soon discarded and the instrument it contained in Adrien’s hands. It really is a nice guitar, not brand new by any means, but well taken care of. It has been… Years, really, since he has last touched one of these outside of that one time for Father’s then latest perfume, but it was more of a prop than anything else. Still, he remembers the basic gestures, at least he thinks so.

“Don’t be afraid to hold the…” Luka stops halfway through his advice. Does he not trust himself to speak? “Here, lemme show you.”

He puts his hands over Adrien’s and leans closer, and the touch, brief as it may be, sends a not-too-unpleasant tingle down the blond boy’s spine.

“… And voilà! Brings back some memories?”

Hesitantly, Adrien places his fingers on the right frets and tries a basic G chord. And for a try, it’s not too bad. He continues… That’s an E minor, right? He has no perfect pitch, so he can only guess. Then a C, and a D, and back to G. He is a little rusty, that much is clear, but not a lost cause if Luka’s look of curiosity is anything to go by. And so he tries the same thing again, a little faster, and steadily finds a tempo. Oh, he has missed this, the guitar tutor was nice, M. Rénardt, wasn’t it? It has been ages ago, something like six years or so. And then mum had decided to take care of that part of his education herself, and Father sometimes, both played the piano, not the guitar, and— The sound comes out all wrong, dissonant and muffled.

And right after that comes another sound still, from Adrien’s right trouser pocket. His phone. The alarm he has set to remind himself that he has a photoshoot in about an hour and ten minutes exactly. Which means he has to get out of here pronto. Luka seems to understand what is going on, and gets up immediately, picking up the empty case as Adrien stops the thing from blaring any louder, softly cursing under his breath as he does so.

“I’m really sorry, I need to get going…” Adrien says reluctantly .

“Yeah, you do,” Luka sighs. “Do you want it? The guitar, I mean. I’m offering, you know, I’m more of an electric kind of guy myself, and there are plenty more lying around somewhere…”

“I…” Will he really play the guitar on his own? As if he had the time for that… Still, if he ends up not playing at all, it would be a good excuse to visit the Couffaine houseboat again, to return the instrument to its owner. That does it. “Yes, I’ll take it!”

Adrien makes it in time, he is even a little early, which gives him just the time to get ready before the makeup artists, hair stylists and the other models arrive. The set is already prepared, fake corinthian pilasters, white roses and all. He has asked Gorilla to put the guitar in his room and to not tell Father about it, and knowing the bodyguard, he will stay true to his words. He shakes hands with the photographer — not Vincent, for once, which is not necessarily a bad thing— and all of the personnel, as he usually does, always new faces though they all follow the same guidelines (do not chat with the models more than is professionally required, no smoking, no music).

Plagg gives him a dirty look when he takes off the ring as he often does during photoshoots. The makeup artist, whose badge reads Cécile, does not comment on the dark rings under his eyes, probably because the model next to him (he just cannot remember who that younger brown-haired boy is supposed to me) looks even more exhausted than him, or perhaps because she is not paid well enough to care. Or maybe it is because Adrien has a slight smile on his face, one that has not left him since the houseboat. In a few minutes, it will morph into whatever the photographer will want it to be, sure, but it is here for now.

It goes well, nothing unusual happens, the sort of toga he wears is a little ridiculous but then again he is not here to judge the work of the people who work for Father. He switches from a pose to another with ease, perfectly in-character. There he is, Adrien Agreste, professional model, the son of one of Paris’ most sought-after fashion designer, he has been doing this for years and it has almost become a second nature for him at this point, all that training and observing has paid off, he knows exactly what these people want out of him and he gives it to them; he cannot say he enjoys it all that much but he is good at it.

He checks his phone on his way out of the studio, posts the selfie he has taken before getting out of that silly costume and makeup on Instagram. He has a new message from Nino, a silly meme he answers with an equally silly picture of his own, and twelve long texts from Chloe with too many emojis, which he decides to read later. The drive back to Agreste Manor is silent as usual, dinner is equally silent, Father is not available tonight as is always the case and Nathalie is nowhere to be seen.

After that, it is all routine. He takes a quick shower, brushes his teeth and does what little homework he has, tries to play that video game he had told Nino about, ignores Chloe’s new messages — she is in the mood for a rant tonight, what about, Adrien does not want to find out— and it works for the first hour or so, after which the game suggests he buys a booster pack, which is the sign Adrien needs to uninstall it. Not that he could not afford it, but paying to win is not all not that interesting to him. And besides, he is starting to get tired. He glances at the black guitar case on the other size of his room, next to the grand piano. He will give it a chance tomorrow before that big party, he decides. That way, he and Luka will have something to talk about. For now, he needs to rest. It takes very little time for sleep to claim him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand I'm somewhat back!
> 
> If you follow me on Tumblr, or if you also read _En garde! Prêtes? Allez!_ which is my Marigami fic, a 210,000 words monster and still counting, you know that my mental health is quite rubbish and that I'm overworked. So next chapter will be whenever it's ready and whenever I feel ready to post it. But hey, it's nice to have something to post!
> 
> See you soon, hopefully!

**Author's Note:**

> Bonjour, bonsoir !
> 
> What I had originally planned as a short one-shot has gotten out of control and know, here we are, with… I am not sure how many chapters yet, but I'll work something out. When will the next chapter be up? I'm not sure yet, I'm working on too many things at once, there's uni, my part-time job, my other fics (I'm writing a very, very long [Marigami fic which you can read by clicking right here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14408868/chapters/33276363)) and sometimes I just don't feel like writing. But there will be a next chapter, and at least two more after that!
> 
> Will Adrien still suffer? I'm afraid yes. Will there be actual interactions with Luka? You bet there will be!
> 
> In the meantime, why don't you visit [my Tumblr](https://algernoninwonderland.tumblr.com)? I'll post updates and previews of this fic, and the other things I'm interesting in.
> 
> I'm unfortunately French, I swear I'm not making mistakes on purpose!
> 
> À la prochaine !


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